


scratches

by inwoo (arcane_hero), kbodnon



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Captivity, Character Death, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychological Torture, Scars, Songfic, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcane_hero/pseuds/inwoo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbodnon/pseuds/kbodnon
Summary: Tobirama is captured by the Uchiha clan.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	scratches

Izuna can barely contain his delight when he puts his hands on top of Tobirama’s, strokes the sharp cheekbones and runs his fingertips along the red marks on them, as if smoothing the whiskers of the favorite cats. He smoothly leads his right hand down to his chin and presses his nail down over the third line, forgetting to breathe from the heart-filling thrill. Izuna is used to aiming at Tobirama with kunais, hoping that one day they will reach the target and cut through the tense muscles, allowing him to take advantage of the moment and drive the sword between Tobirama’s ribs, preferably spinning it in a circle after. He used to beat, burn him with a caton and always be ready for retaliatory attacks and rapid suyton, threatening to swallow the body with a toothy mouth and shatter it inside with rapid flows of Tobirama’s chakra. Now Izuna is sitting on the grass in front of him, and instead of rough blows, he leaves a lot of soft touches on the hated face, which makes the tips of her fingers tremble slightly with the mind-absorbing childish admiration of absolute control over the situation. Izuna can grab him by the hair and pull it back, kick him in the stomach or push his fingers into his mouth, and Tobirama can do nothing – he is tied with tight ropes to a pole standing alone in the clearing, left here for the night by a hostile clan, like a guilty dog before its owners. Izuna came to visit him at night, giving him generous gifts: burning red eyes that open the world of pain and nightmare. Izuna strokes his skin in reality, ripping open Tobirama's body again and again in the dream world. Tobirama pulls his head back and bangs the top of his head against the wooden surface of the post, trying in vain to distract himself from the unbearable ephemeral pain. His broad shoulders stiffen slightly, unconscious reflexes, as if he has a chance to free his hands from their bonds. But the skin on his wrists was already worn away by the constant friction of the rough, dark-stained ropes of his own blood. Tobirama has already lost the boundary between the worlds and doesn’t know which one to try to escape to, to make it easier, but eventually he realizes it is easier where there is no Izuna and his cursed eyes.

That place doesn’t exists.

“Don't look away.” Isuna puts his hand behind Tobirama’s head and clenches the whitish hair at the back of his head, snapping it back to its original position to see the eyes opposite: a pigmented scarlet iris the color of oxygenated arterial blood, and a darting, pain-blinded stare. Izuna’s Mangekyo is the suffocating malleability of venous blood with dark splotches of black lines inside. Tobirama wants to forget those damn patterns one day.

“See.” Tobirama stops feeling the ropes over his wrists and tries to pull away from the outstretched hand and the mock-tender voice, but his body doesn't move – the muscles have recognized the master in someone else and no longer obey him. Izuna controls everything here, from the density of the air to the amount of oxygen that Tobirama can draw into the lungs. His chest aches from the metallic smell of blood, and his eyes have already lost the ability to focus on anything, but the image of Izuna doesn’t lose its shape, attracting all attention. He wraps his arm around Tobirama's wrist and brings his hand to his neck, pressing a cool palm against the skin.

“Here.” Izuna directs his thumb with his own, running it over the rough scar just above the collarbone and pressing it over the Tobirama's nail, allowing him to feel the ragged scar. “There are a lot of them”, he slightly lowers his shoulder, throwing off the edge of the black cloth to guide his hand along the body was easier: from the neck down the hard muscles of the chest, holding the fingers of Tobirama on each roughness of the light skin.

“Each of them is from you.” the palm slides along the ribs and goes a little sideways, covering a particularly long and large scar. Tobirama remembers how it was left: he wandered his sword over the ribs of others and immediately got burns from a sudden boat from the side because Madara reacts more strongly to his brother's wounds than to his own.

Izuna comes from behind and pushes a kunai into the Tobirama’s side, pushes the sharp tip deep into the flesh and tears the muscles and ribs with rough movements. Tobirama wheezes in pain and tries to pull away, but Izuna won't let him: he still holds his palm over his shivering pale hand on his scars, leaving identical ones on the body, but deliberately injects the kunai as deep and sharp as possible to hurt his inner organs and break his bones. A third silhouette appears on the side, placing his hand on the Tobirama’s head and gently picks up the colorless hair, cutting through the skin in parallel over the collarbone.

“I will gift you the same ones.”

***

Izuna rubs his hand on his cheeks in an attempt to erase the crimson traces from them, but blood is still flowing from his eyes, baking dark divorces on his pale skin and pouring into his nose. He sniffs quietly and rises up on his feet, dropping his upset look down – there, instead of wheezing his breath, is only a soaked body on raw grass. Tobirama stayed in tsukuyomi much longer than anyone before him, but still not enough. Izuna feels a slight emptying inside, as if he had been given the best toy in the world, and in a couple of moments, they plucked it out of his hands without giving anything in return. But he immediately sweeps away these thoughts, remotely reminiscent of grief, decisively turning his back on the pole.

Three dead brothers against three, Hashirama.


End file.
